


Memoirs of a Mental Breakdown

by Vixen0705



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Deepground (Compilation of FFVII), Developing Friendships, Friendship, Other, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Post-Dirge of Cerberus (Compilation of FFVII), Tsviets (Compilation of FFVII)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen0705/pseuds/Vixen0705
Summary: Yuffie asks but doesn't really want to know. Shelke tells her anyway. A cataloged description of insecurity to insanity, told around two foils and their fabricated penchant for conversation. Dark Comedy.
Relationships: Yuffie Kisaragi & Shelke Rui, Yuffie Kisaragi/Shelke Rui
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

The path that leads to instability is rarely trod upon, and even less returned to. It’s more akin to a one way street that ends in a cul-de-sac of madness – circling ‘round and ‘round until what you knew and what you know becomes a blur of hazy alcohol fed recollections. The buzz is amped to full volume and the hangover intensified to infinite proportions, comprehendible only to those who have perhaps imbibed lethal doses of liquor, thus rendering the comparison worthless because they’re with Aerith now, and that is all that can be said concerning the matter.

“How did it happen?” Yuffie asks, sitting across from the girl in question as the morning sun leaks through the curtain and dapples onto the floor in a waltzing display of shadow and light.

Shelke has to think about this one. She can predict much, but this inquiry is uncalled for.

“Gradually. And then suddenly.” There is a stagnant pause between the two. “Is that what you refer to as irony?”

Yuffie smiles. “Close enough.”

o-o-o-o

The first thing Shelke noticed was that Azul The Cerulean possessed a magnificently ornate chrome plated crotch. (It was in her direct line of vision; she couldn’t help it.)

o-o-o-o

“Ew.”

“How could one not take heed of such things?”

“Easy, Robo Drone. Close your eyes. Maybe that’s why they turn funny colors.”

“No, that is because of the mako.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Yes. Indeed.”

Yuffie can’t think of a more plausible argument at the moment, so instead she opts to go with the deft repetition of ‘nu-uh!’ only more emphatic this time.

o-o-o-o

The second thing noted was that Nero was severely gagged by medical adhesive. Yet he still possessed the ability to communicate – something Shelke never figured out.

o-o-o-o

“It seemed rather…futile.”

“You mean pointless?”

“I believe I just indicated that.”

“English, please,” Yuffie beseeches, for this is the language she prefers.

For the first time, the ninja bears witness to a smirk tugging at the corners of Shelke’s mouth.

“Why? Do you not speak Wutai?”

At this, the poser is graced with the wide open gape of Yuffie Karasagi’s unhinged jaw.

“Oh my gods! Did you just make a funny?”

“A funny? Do you mean a joke?”

“Yeah.”

The smirk returns, this time broader and more evident.

“English, please.”

o-o-o-o

The third was Rosso’s unyielding affinity with anything of the crimson variety. “Like blood, yes?” she had helpfully offered. Shelke just squeaked, for she was only nine.

o-o-o-o

“Can you squeak for me now?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Request denied. Please refrain from interrupting.”

o-o-o-o

And finally – fourthly – Weiss was prone to wildly gesticulating with his hands – more comparable to claws than anything else.

o-o-o-o

“Vinnie has a claw.”

“I am aware of that.”

“He doesn’t gesticulate.”

“He doesn’t have to. The gun gesticulates for him.”

“I think the gun _ejaculates_ for him.”

o-o-o-o

Ultimately – they were not always what they were destined to become – mindless assassins involved in the endless pursuit to quench an indefinite, insatiable bloodlust. They slowly evolved into that, true, but the process took time. Years. Before such nefarious tendencies were implanted – there were moments that could almost be described as tender. Shelke fearing the omnipresence of the dark, for example, and retreating to Azul’s bunk for comfort. “Floor,” he had directed, seeing her pale and mute at his threshold. “And no talking.”

o-o-o-o

“Or squeaking, right?”

“I would appreciate it if you refrained from referring to that time and time again.”

“I can’t help it. It’s like an addiction. Like you and your mako.”

“Do not compare my necessity for mako to your juvenile penchant for childish banter.”

“Again I say: English, please. Are you deaf or something?”

o-o-o-o

Even Rosso, in all her slaughtering glory, did not always have a penchant for killing all things that retained a pulse. She had a pet for some time – an escaped mutant lab rat, to be exact – and cared for it dearly until the fateful eve arrived where she determined it would be more pleasant to smother it as opposed to feed it.

o-o-o-o

“Is that how she made that fur skirt she was always whoring around in?”

“You can not procure enough fur from a mere lab rat to suffice the entirety of that robe.”

“I was being facetious.”

There is a slight pause in repertoire.

“I do not understand.”

“Never mind.”

The pause returns for an encore performance.

“She did take to wearing its shrunken head on a necklace for awhile, though. Perhaps she harbored some latent guilt for terminating the creature’s life.”

“That’s a funny way to show remorse.”

“Remorse is meant to be funny?”

o-o-o-o

Nero had trouble adjusting to his wings, a feat highly understandable, for Shelke herself had trouble coping with the residual exhaustion that the neural synaptic net dives left in their wake. The tightly bound man would bump into every stationary object before finally honing in on his stealth like dexterity. He tripped a lot, too. And he had a great difficulty getting back up. Azul was usually the one nominated to help him, since Shelke was too weak and Rosso lacked the required interest to actually care. Weiss advocated tough love and learning for yourself. Thus Azul was always left to pick up the pieces – literally, sometimes, say when Shelke malfunctioned in her terminal – and play big brother to all. It was a feat he preformed without complaint for some five years until the day came when he simply stopped caring and took to only looking after himself. It was a transition that would have stung a lot more had the rest of the group not gone numb in tandem and actually retained feelings of their original humanity. But they did not – so it was of no great loss, viewed more as an inconvenience than a treachery.

o-o-o-o

“He had a twin,” Shelke offers, interrupting herself for the first time. “I wonder if he still resides among us.”

“Why? Do you miss gawking at his chrome plated crotch?”

Here Shelke interjects a labored sigh.

“Such things were inevitable, Yuffie. You’d be forced to take heed, too, had you stood adjacent to him.”

“Nah,” she dismisses with a careless flick of the wrist. “I would have _so_ looked at his shoes.”

o-o-o-o

Rosso’s stilettos were painful atrocities, and this Shelke could personally vouch for, since she had experienced their torture first hand. She was around thirteen – perhaps, it can not be certain, for birthdays were not celebrated among Tsviets; first kills, however, were – and she had somehow managed to abscond away with her comrade’s very dangerous footwear. Shelke was tired of being vertically challenged.

o-o-o-o

“You ever miss having boobs?”

“To miss them would imply I once possessed them in the first place.”

“Hm. Good point.”

o-o-o-o

Rosso found out, no doubt. And she proved to have even less control of herself than Nero when wandering barefoot through the dismal halls of Deep Ground. Nero actually laughed at this – ostensibly before all his emotion was eradicated – and this only stoked Rosso’s wrath further. (It should be noted it was not long after that she smothered the lab rat.)

o-o-o-o

“Did she ever name it?”

“I believe so.”

Yuffie waits expectantly.

“Well?” she prompts.

Shelke stares.

“You gonna share?”

“Share what?” she asks.

“The name, dummy.”

“You did not inquire as to the name – only if it had one.”

“Well, it was implied.”

Again, more blank stares.

“What was?”

“ _The name_.”

“I cease to understand.”

“Never mind. Just continue. I wanna know what happens next. We can work on your latent social skills later.”

o-o-o-o

Shelke had been beaten before – for in addition to brain washing, physical elimination of feeling must also be considered (“Ohmigosh – what are you going to do on your wedding night?!” Shelke balks. “Sleep – I presume.”) So Rosso’s consequential thrashing was of little importance to the young teenager. Mostly she just felt defeated – for she could not conquer high heels with the same grace and poise that Rosso inherently had. Even Azul – who she expects ratted her out, though who _else_ would steal a pair of stilettos? – commented on the spectacle. Shelke had once again sought refuge in his room, as always (though now it was merely due to habit as opposed to affection) and he proceeded to gawf at her from his bunk, his raucous laughter creating a cacophony loud enough in volume to alert the elusive Nero of the proceedings – who then bore witness to a stumbling Rosso and joined in the mockery.

o-o-o-o

“In a really, really twisted way, this sounds kind of endearing. But hurry up – I wanna get to the part where she kicks your ass.”

o-o-o-o

There is not much to be told concerning the following beating. It was typical – albeit mitigated, for they had only been part of Deep Ground for four years instead of ten – and if the former had happened more recently Shelke would most likely had not survived due to severe head trauma or massive internal hemorrhaging. (“Or maybe she’d just pull out a handful of wires during one of your computer dates.”) Nero put an end to it when he felt as though Shelke had taken enough. Rosso was ready to go at it all day – or night, whichever it was, for they could never be certain – and had Azul carry the girl’s limp body back to her room. “Stick to sneakers,” he sparingly offered, and Shelke had taken his advice to heart. Her feet hurt more than any other part of her body – in spite of the previous beating.

o-o-o-o

“Aw, how cute! You wear sneakers because of Azul!”

“No, I wear sneakers because they are more practical. Though I do fear they make me look like a nine year old sometimes.”

“It’s not just the sneakers, Shelkie, trust me.”

o-o-o-o

As their deterioration progressed – and oxymoron to be sure, yet at the same time the ultimate goal – the hallmark moments prevailed, but not in the same abundant quantity and with more time interspersed between. One that continues to stick out in Shelke’s mind is when Nero kindly offered his services as toilet guard when Shelke received Mako Poisoning due to an accidental (or perhaps not) over dose and spent the next five rotations becoming personally acquainted with the porcelain in her bathroom. Nero took up temporary residency in the tub – his eccentricities all but lost on her by this point – and tried to ameliorate the procession of stomach cramps with macabre fairy tales from his twisted mind. Shelke did not find this helpful in any way, shape, or form, but did not voice such for fear of another beating – and also, she favored the company, for Azul was becoming more and more solitary and blocking off the sanctuary of his room in all cases save for those of dire emergency. And Mako Poisoning did not warrant the classification of ‘dire emergency’ in his book. (However, when Weiss found out Shelke overslept the next morning due to an atypically brutal synaptic dive beforehand, the giant creature opened his doors and permitted the tremulous girl to hide in his closet – for Rosso’s torture was but a joke when compared to the cruelties Weiss was notorious for dishing out on a near daily basis.)

“And when the prince went to kiss the sleeping maiden, he was shot in the back by the jealous brother of said fair maiden, who then proceeded to violate her slumbering body in a release of a very laborious, incestuous love affair.”

“Gross,” Shelke offered.

“Why? She was none the wiser. I find it quite comical, actually.”

o-o-o-o

“Oh, gods, ew. Shelkie – stop. It burns.”

“What does?”

“My brain. My brain is on fire.”

“Would you like me to cast Wateraga?”

“No amount of Wateraga is going to help erase this mental image. Quick – tell me something else before I kill myself in a fit of post traumatic stress.”

“Very well.”

o-o-o-o

Azul once wanted to confront Weiss on his virginity given his obsession with the color white. Rosso thought this was a bad idea, but once Azul informed her she would not be involved, she agreed one hundred percent. Promise of a potential blood bath was always enticing. As long as it did not involve her blood.

“You moronic fool,” Nero admonished. “Do you not favor being alive?”

This sparked a heated debate between Shelke and Nero over the concept of being alive, and if they technically could be defined as such. In the end, Nero won, for it was determined they were still engaged in the process on inhaling oxygen, a trait of all living things, and therefore Shelke was rendered the loser. She glared, making her eyes turn orange for effect. Whether this proved to be amusing for Nero was never evident, for little could be gleaned from his facial features when they were all swathed in a plethora of bandages.

“It looks as though you raided a first aid kit,” Shelke dripped condescendingly.

“And you don a metal bra. What is your point, child?”

The altercation ended with that.

o-o-o-o

“Dude, I kinda want to date Nero now. Is that wrong?”

“I thought you did not favor him.”

“I didn’t particularly like that fairy tale he pulled out of his ass, but the metal bra line was a keeper. Did he usually come up with that kind of stuff?”

“…I try not to remember. He tended to be rather disparaging.”

“Well, alright, but so am I.”

“Yes, but you are not a Tsviet.”

“So?”

Shelke tries to think of a favorable way to word this, but she is not practiced in the latter and finds doing such rather difficult.

“I am not scared of you.”

“Hey! I’ll come over there and bitch slap you again! Twice this time! Maybe three times, if you really, really piss me off!”

“…Again, I say: I am not scared of you.”

She receives a kick in the shins. It does not hurt.

o-o-o-o

The only conversation Weiss and Shelke ever had was concerning wires. It was nondescript and quite mundane, for Shelke already knew everything he was bestowing upon her, but dared not inform him of that. Thus she resorted to staring at his abdomen, again falling victim to her hazardous line of vision, and tuned out everything that was dribbling from his mouth. She may have looked nine years old, but she now had the mental capacity of a seventeen aged woman, and such aesthetics she found rather pleasing. (Azul’s crotch was still a disturbing sight to bare witness to, however. No amount of hormones could ever do away with that.)

o-o-o-o

“You slut. Gawking at southern real estate like a salivating hooker.”

“I did not drool, if that is what you are … implying.”

“Hey, good job! You learned something today!”

“…I believe I learned my limit of putting up with you.”

“What? Thirty minutes?”

“Give or take.”

“So is that all for today?”

“I believe so. You are beginning to wane on my ears.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Vinnie says the same thing.”

“His mental acuity is very favorable.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Like I know what that means.”

“…It means he is right.”

Yuffie sighs, eyes twinkling, corners of her mouth at a dangerously high level.

“Hey, before you go, can I ask you one more question?”

“I suppose.”

“…Do you have a crush on Vinnie?”

Silence.

“I plug into machines. Not men.”

And that is all she says.

o-o-o-o

To Be Continued

o-o-o-o


	2. Chapter 2

_Memoirs Of A Mental Breakdown_

_Conversations Continued_

o-o-o-o

Shelke is trying to figure out this nonsense called coffee.

Used to her mako enhancement – and finding she no longer needs it – the girl discovers she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. In the refulgent hours of the morning, Shelke could be typically found confined to a tube of verdant substance, dependent on the fumes for survival. Now that she has so much free time on her hands, the former Tsviet is at an utter loss.

Vincent suggested coffee.

(Cid had recommended beer, but Tifa admonished him for advocating such before noon.)

So here she sits, staring at the brown contents that circumnavigate her cup, tentatively risking a sip and finding the entire concept of imbibing liquid comparable to defecated remains highly repulsive.

She discreetly spits the beverage back into the mug, hoping nobody noticed.

“I saw that,” an all too familiar voice announces from the doorway.

Shelke does not have to turn around to know who she is now required to converse with.

“Yuffie.”

“Yes. That would be me. Glad to know you don’t need flashcards or something way lame to memorize all our names. Though, admittedly, Red XIII threw me for a loop when I first met him. Cloud was easy to remember, though.”

Shelke nods.

“You are rather unforgettable.”

“Aw, Shelkie-pooh! That’s got to be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me!”

Yuffie croons as she takes up her resident seating arrangement across from her polar opposite.

“I was implying something along the lines of infamous, which is not exactly a compliment.”

“Yeah. Well. Whatever.”

Shelke’s subtlety is lost upon her.

“Can I ask you more questions today?”

“…Why?”

“’Cuz, like, I dunno. It’s fun?”

Shelke continues to stare hard at her coffee.

“Will you ingest this coffee for me if I oblige?”

Yuffie blinks.

“Dude, nobody is forcing you to drink that crap.”

“Tifa gave it to me,” Shelke explains, continuing to observe the liquid, as if it may metamorphosize into something palatable. “I wish not to offend her.”

“…Tifa burns crap all the time. I always let her know when she makes something inedible.”

“Perhaps this is why she does not particularly favor you.”

“Honesty is the best policy, Shelkster. You need to learn these things.”

“I believe most beings utilize a thing called tact.”

“Not me,” Yuffie chirps. “What the hell does tact ever get you? Nada, that’s what.”

She then takes hold of Shelke’s coffee mug and slides it across the table.

“But, being the nice ninja that I just so naturally happen to be, I’ll take this coffee off your hands, so long as you agree to converse with me.”

Here Yuffie plasters on a smile of mirth, and Shelke wonders if she is meant to imitate it, or simply acknowledge the gesture with a nod.

“Very well.”

“Boo yeah,” Yuffie exhales, downing the coffee in three strong gulps for emphasis. “I’m caffeinated now, Shelkie. You’re really in for it. Hope you don’t regret it.”

“That happens to be one emotion I’m familiar with.” She pauses. “More so, after this morning.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m your reason to wake up.”

Shelke doesn’t bother to mention she’s not sure why she continues to wake up in the morning. (Though, in retrospect, she wonders if she should have, for perhaps Yuffie could have offered some simplistic insight that could be construed into something meaningful, even unintentionally.)

“Okay. Question numero uno,” Yuffie begins, wiping the residue coffee away from her mouth with a swipe of the hand. “Why were all you Tsviets named after sections of the color wheel?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The color fetish,” Yuffie elaborates. “Explain it to me.”

“I do not know the answer to that phenomenon,” Shelke admits, though she is thinking about it, now that such is brought to her attention. “Hojo did not strike me as one for aesthetics.”

o-o-o-o

Truth be told, Rosso did not mind her color association. In fact, she arrived baring the resemblance, and perhaps that is where it all originated from. Azul did have blue hair, and Nero naturally possessed the ability to control darkness, and Weiss – for whatever reason, sexual or not – seemed quite placate with his white hued fetish. That left Shelke The Transparent without a color and ostensibly without a name, for she was never assigned a shade and was simply referred to as such due to her ability to disappear without warning. In the beginning, Rosso had mentioned something of the orange variety, given her hair, but Nero reprimanded it, saying it made her sound more like a piece of citrus than a cold blooded assassin.

o-o-o-o

Yuffie has disintegrated into peals of laughter on the tile floor.

“Shelke The Citrus – ohmigods – Shelke, can I call you that from now on? Please?”

“I will terminate your very existence.”

Yuffie can not reply, for she is preoccupied groping the air for breath.

“Then again, I may not have to,” Shelke dimly notes. “Given the fact you are currently asphyxiating.”

“Oh, that was _priceless_ ,” the ninja proceeds to blabber, dabbing stray tears that are leaking from her eyes as she resumes her previous position on the bench. “Okay. Okay. I’m good now. Next question.”

Shelke waits expectantly. There is little else she can do.

“Your weapons,” Yuffie commences, regaining composure. “You have to tell me the story behind your weapons.”

“Mine?” Shelke queries.

“No. Not yours. Yours are boring. You got beaten by a frickin’ fire extinguisher, how lame is that?”

“I prefer to think I was defeated by Vincent, thank you very much.”

“Yeah. Well. He _shot_ the fire extinguisher, but not important. What I’m getting at here is Weiss.”

Shelke instinctively grimaces. She does not have fond memories of Weiss’ weapons.

“It was _so_ obvious they were phallic symbols!”

“Excuse me?”

“Those gun blade thingies. They were, like, semiautomatic dildos. How can you take someone like that seriously?”

Shelke wants to ask if Yuffie has ever been at the receiving end of a semiautomatic dildo – but something inside of her says that question will come out wrong.

“I’m not familiar with the term dildo.”

“You don’t have to be. Just know he looked like a lame ass.”

“…I believe I already specified his ass was quite pleasing.”

“Please,” Yuffie petitions. “Don’t say that again. I can’t take it. Not coming from you.”

(Though she doesn’t know who else had access to his ass, aside from Vincent, and to hear him admit such would be indefinitely worse.)

“And, um, Azul? What was that thing he was totting around?”

“A 457-678 Experimental Cannon.”

“Right. That tells me something right there. Compensation, anyone?”

Shelke is beginning to wish she had drank the coffee.

Or, at the very least, not given it to Yuffie.

She seemed ten times more audacious when given the right chemical enhancement.

“Not if his chrome plated crotch was any indicator.”

Yuffie chokes on herself, apparently not expecting this response.

“Shelke, I’m beginning to think you’re kind of a pervert.”

“You are the one referencing semiautomatic dildos,” Shelke responds, even though she is not certain what a dildo, exactly, is. It sounds profane, and it is coming from Yuffie, so it most likely is.

o-o-o-o

Once, after spending an extended amount of time with Nero, Shelke could not help but take heed of his rather unique choice of dress. And she is not merely referring to his affinity with ace bandages, either. He seemed to sport eye liner and nail polish, something Shelke was unfamiliar with at the time. She spent nineteen years of her life faultily assuming in was of the norm for humans of the male persuasion to promote the donning of facial decoration, and was baffled to see Vincent lacked the aforementioned.

One day, or night, or afternoon, or evening – time was irrelevant, as it always was – Shelke managed to procure a black sharpie from some unknown realm in Deep Ground, and decided to paint her nails to match his.

o-o-o-o

“How _old_ were you when you did this?”

“Sixteen. Allegedly.” Shelke pauses after delivering this answer. “Are sixteen year olds not supposed to pine for lacquered fingertips? Rosso had them.”

“Dude – don’t go emo on me, Shelkster. Don’t turn into Cloud. First dressing like a female, then acting like one. And he _claims_ no homo.”

“Cloud is … homosexual?”

“Debatable.”

Shelke ponders the character of this man in question for quite some time.

“We have not held many verbal transactions – Cloud and I.”

“Well, no surprise there. He doesn’t hold verbal _transactions_ with anybody – ‘cept for himself on special occasions. Oh, and by the way, don’t use the word transaction like that in a sentence. It makes you sound like his hooker or something.”

“Cloud associates with hookers?”

“Again: debatable.”

A silence of some great length bequeaths itself upon them.

“Male or female?”

There is another momentary pause, before both girls arrive at the same conclusion and voice in unison: “Debatable.”

o-o-o-o

Nero got tied up a lot.

“I am contemplating becoming the spokesperson for S&M,” he announced one day, early on in their mental sabotage, when he still possessed some warped sense of humor only few understood and even fewer appreciated.

“What’s that?” Shelke had questioned, still young and naive and the epitome of all that was right in the world.

“Skittles and Motrin,” Azul took it upon himself to demur, parental tendencies still running strong through his veins.

Shelke nodded, accepting. “I like Skittles,” she offered.

(Rosso, on the other hand, could be heard in the background accosting Nero concerning the logistics of volunteering to aid in such a campaign. Needless to say, Nero declined.)

o-o-o-o

“What? Declined? Why? I want me some kinky Deep Ground down and dirty sex here!”

Shelke sighs, watching Yuffie’s laced up leg bounce around wildly beneath the table. She keeps kicking her in the shins, but it is futile to say anything.

“That would require my observation in order to retell it.”

“Well. Who says you weren’t the one participating?”

“I believe that is grounds for pedophilia,” Shelke notes, devoid of emotion.

“Never stopped Vinnie and me.”

Silence.

“Ha ha! Got you there! Didn’t I? _Didn’t I?_ ”

“I prefer to remain silent concerning this matter.”

“Aw, Shelke! You’re no fun!”

Another kick in the shins. This time Shelke is pretty sure it was intentional.

o-o-o-o

Hojo taught Shelke about the birds and the bees through an elaborate demonstration involving the strategic placing of test tubes, beakers, and various other scientific apparatus not usually utilized with the intent to educate young, impressionable fifteen year old girls. (As to why he decided to pursue this course of action in the first place remains a mystery.)

The dissertation was peppered with obscure euphemisms like, ‘the man then places his bunsen burner into the women’s open vestibule and increases the intensity of the flame in accordance to her requirements.’

o-o-o-o

“He just put the hopeless in hopeless romantic.”

“Perhaps that was his intent.”

“Makes you wonder how Lucrecia could repress her gag reflex long enough to sleep with him.”

“I try not to picture such things.”

“Ya know what’s even worse?”

Shelke senses Yuffie is being rhetorical, which is the nature of most of her questions.

“Barret,” the brunette supplies. “And Tifa. _In_ _costumes_.”

At this, Shelke is rendered momentarily speechless.

“I’ve never witnessed any evidence of a … bunsen burner … between those two.”

“There’s not. But try to think about it and tell me it doesn’t burn. Um, no pun intended.”

“…What is the point in that?”

“Amusement. Dude – how did you _occupy_ yourself in those mako tubes for so long?”

“Counting,” Shelke answers honestly. “Backwards. From one hundred. In various increments.”

“And this is why you’re still a virgin.”

o-o-o-o

Azul had an unhealthy infatuation with the word _penetrate_.

It was always in reference to his shield, of course, but still. After the Hojo Fiasco Of Sexual Education 101 – Shelke could not help but wonder if this, too, could be applied as a euphemism.

o-o-o-o

“Ha ha ha ha!” Yuffie croaks, fist pounding the table. “Azul got stabbed by his own cannon! Penile impalement – for the win!”

Shelke settles on not saying anything.

But then she quickly changes her mind.

(At least after the incessant table punching has died down.)

“Apparently his chrome plating could have been put to good use elsewhere.”

Yuffie’s eyes grow as huge as saucers.

“Ohmigods! Another funny!”

“…I try.”

o-o-o-o

Shelke quickly learned to despise the color of neon blue.

It covered everything – her hands, her body, and her comrades’ bodies.

It was a constant reminder of her dependency on mako and the prison she currently found herself in.

She’d look in the mirror and hate herself for having blue eyes – desperately wishing they were of the brown or hazel variety – anything but blue. (Sometimes, she was thankful they turned orange, if only out of juvenile spite.)

“The sky. It is blue. Apparently.”

Shelke remembers looking at Rosso when she described such to her.

“I doubt that.”

Rosso, who had not yet turned to her automatic response of slaughtering all that oppose her, looked quizzically at Shelke.

“How could something so beautiful be blue?”

“I do not understand, Young One.”

Shelke didn’t bother to explain. Words were not her forte. And neither were emotions.

o-o-o-o

“So they were like your school colors or something. Black and blue. Like a giant bruise.”

“I suppose you could draw that correlation.”

“Quick, what was your mascot?”

Shelke’s nose scrunches up as she tries to recall what a mascot is. Surprisingly, she is able to conjure up this recollection and simply replies, “Fluffy.”

“Fluffy? Who the hell if Fluffy?”

“Rosso’s decapitated lab rat.”

“…She named it Fluffy?”

“I did not ask.”

o-o-o-o

Hojo deemed food an overrated commodity, and said masticating wasted too much precious time (“There ain’t no way in hell masturbating is _ever_ a waste of time,” Cid can be heard orating from the hallway, still in his wife beater, cigarette characteristically drooping from his lips. He sees the two girls engaged in conversation, to which Yuffie replies, “Um, excuse me, bonding moment here?” and immediately leaves.) In the stead of meat and salad and vegetables, the Tsviets (and everyone else involved in Deep Ground, for that matter) were allotted diet pills, which contained all the necessary nutrients to maintain survival, and some to enhance, but only required about three seconds to swallow, as opposed to the half an hour usually given for lunch break among normal organizations. (“You should have sued.”)

o-o-o-o

“There was talk of breeding us, once.”

Why Shelke was willingly volunteering this information she’ll never know. Perhaps Yuffie is beginning to grow on her. But more like mold as opposed to a friend.

“Holy Shiva – does Yuffie actually get her kinky Deep Ground sex?”

Yes. Definitely mold.

“No – it was to involve artificial insemination. That’s how one reproduces Deep Ground style. Hojo deemed it more efficient.”

“Hm. That may explain why Sephiroth was an only child.”

“Then how does one explain Kadaj?”

Shelke may not have been present for such things, but she was privy to them, thanks to hours spent being lectured by Cid after he spent some quality time with the bottle.

“Well, he didn’t come from Lucrecia’s vag, that’s for certain. How does someone give birth inside a crystal, anyway?”

“How does one _conceive_ inside a crystal?”

Yuffie smirks, proud and irreverent, both defining characteristic for her.

“I swear – two more years and you’ll be ready for stand up, Shelkie.”

“…I prefer to sit.”

“Okay. So be a maverick. Start a trend. Sit Down Comedy. Whatever.”

“I do not aspire to garner laughs.”

“You do it without trying,” Yuffie informs her breakfast companion. “Just reiterate your sexual introduction. That’s bound to make a mint. Can I be your agent?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty, pretty, pretty please?”

“No. No, and no.”

“Lame ass.”

Shelke thinks back on her time spent in Deep Ground and responds with a resounding, “Wutai Flea,” of which she stole from Rosso.

o-o-o-o

Shelke stole lots of things from Rosso, actually, and not just her stilettos. She even tried to imitate her accent once – in the privacy of her room, of course – but Azul overheard her and she was then the unfortunate recipient of an unprecedented amount of guttural laughter.

(No one ever attempted to imitate Shelke because she hardly spoke. Refraining from conversation was the closest one could get – aside from adding a monotone drawl to whatever did happen to flow from her mouth.)

She was known, however, to abandon the pretense of this characteristic (the silence, not the monotony) when arguing with Nero. For some reason, he was always able to elicit a response from the girl – no matter how unfavorable – possibly because she did not hold such tight reign over her tongue while in his presence – for he rarely issued her a beating. He preferred to agitate her with his tightly bound mouth – the dichotomy of such a statement not lost on her. Of course, when he happened to lose whatever debate was currently at hand (again; another acknowledged dichotomy) – which rarely took place, thus the extreme response – he did lash out quite dramatically. But the two were so practiced in sparring no one ever really sustained any injuries.

o-o-o-o

“Is this the equivalent to Deep Ground flirtation?”

“No. This is the equivalent to Deep Ground conversation.”

“Oh.”

o-o-o-o

Nero did manage to clip Shelke’s shoulder once, what with his demon wing artillery, and she had to lie in the infirmary for a day or so. It should be noted he took to sulking around more than usual that evening – but he was the master of darkness as it was – so general brooding was viewed as a wayward side effect more so than a guilty conscious.

o-o-o-o

“Did he come visit you?”

“Affirmative.”

“…Well? Did you have magical healing hospital sex or what?”

“He proceeded to berate me on my severe lack of dexterity for a good thirty minutes.”

“I thought you couldn’t tell time.”

“I can not. I counted.”

“What _is_ it with you and binary, woman?” Pause. “And I use that term loosely.”

“We are of the same age, you and I. Surely you are aware of this.”

“Yeah, ‘cept I didn’t receive my sex ed from _Hojo_ , thank you very much, or have mutant emo dudes shooting me in the arm.”

“Technically speaking, it _was_ my fault.”

“Here, on Gaia, that’s ground for domestic abuse. You were involved in an abusive relationship, Shelkie. Remember, admitting the problem is the first step to recovery.”

“Why bother? All my relationships were abusive.”

“Ah.” Yuffie thinks for a moment (a rare feat, to be certain.) “Good point.”

“Just Nero the least so.”

“What about Azul?”

“He grew exceedingly incorrigible after year five.”

“Hm. Yeah. Nothing to penetrate, I guess.” The caffeinated ninja twirls her hair piece around an index. “They should have had mandatory field trips to the Midgar Brothels – ya know – release some of that pent up aggression. Then maybe you guys wouldn’t have beaten on _each other_ so much.”

“That would require us leaving Deep Ground. Which we were not allowed to do. Thus rendering Rosso and I the only viable … vestibules within the vicinity.”

“Rosso was not viable. Ever. Which leaves you. In all your nine year old glory.” Yuffie contemplated this. “Yeah. The guys would have definitely benefited from some brothel outings. No doubt about it. Maybe that’s Vinnie’s problem. Must be hard to go solo with that claw.”

“Go solo?”

“Never mind. Ask Hojo when you get to the Life Stream. I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you.”

“I do not wish to converse with him ever again.”

“Well, I guess that’s alright. Any man would be willing to speak about going solo – trust me.”

“ _I_ do not wish to speak about it.”

“Who says there has to be speaking? Hojo seemed fond of demonstrations…”

That last line goes right over Shelke’s citrus colored head.

o-o-o-o

Rosso claims she once had a significant other, and they were apparently betrothed. Shelke didn’t understand the wording of the sentence, but it is just as well, for it would have made her cry to know that Rosso was torn from her former lover in the same way Shelke was torn from her former sister.

“They’ll save us,” Shelke had assured, still waiting for her age to enter the double digit realm.

“Surely you jest,” Rosso had replied. “They have no reason do such.”

“’Course they do. They love us. Remember?”

“I try not to.”

o-o-o-o

“You regret anything, Shelke?”

Shelke seems taken aback by the sudden sincerity laced within Yuffie’s usual jovial tone. She is also avoiding eye contact. Two things that do not compute.

“I regret a great many things, Miss Kisaragi. But that is another conversation for another day.”

Yuffie’s eyes brighten, her demeanor returning to that of its normal aplomb.

“…Are you saying there’ll be more conversations?”

“Until they can find a way to permanently inflict Silence upon you, I don’t see why not.”

Yuffie, grinning maniacally, returns the coffee mug to its rightful owner.

“Can I hug you?”

“Refrain from contact, please.”

Shelke pauses, bearing witness to Yuffie’s attempt at puppy dog eyes (which fail miserably, by the way. They cease to work on the emotionally attune, let alone the emotionally inept. Gods only know why she continues the feat.) “My condolences for having you ingest the coffee.”

“You make it sound like a funeral.”

“You never know what will kill you.”

“Who taught you that one? Nero? Weiss? Hojo when he was in one of his pontificating moods?”

“No. I came up with that one on my own.”

“You should write a book, Shelkie. A big, ol’, fat book. Like the kind they keep preserved in shrines and stuff. We have some stashed away in Wutai.”

“…The art of manual composition is _so_ archaic.”

If it weren’t for her characteristic vocabulary, the emphases would have almost made her sound like a normal teenager.

Perhaps Yuffie is having more influence than she would like to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter re-posted! Again, some minor changes. Nothing major. More updates to come! Stay tuned! And thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Just re-posting this from my fanfiction.net account! The majority of the work (it is not yet completed) is posted there, in case any of you were interested. I'll be re-uploading all chapters here. I also have links to both fan art and AMV's. This work is over ten years old, so apologies if the beginning chapters are not exactly, shall we say, stellar. Feel free to leave comments! I appreciate the feed back and will respond as soon as possible! Also: minor changes have been made, basically anything that could be remotely construed as offensive has been taken out. Apparently a decade's worth of hindsight will do that. Updates will be coming soon! Thank you for reading!


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